


The Harbingers

by SCPClassKeter



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Slow Burn, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCPClassKeter/pseuds/SCPClassKeter
Summary: The Hamlet is grey, and grim, and was once the last place one would expect to find a cheery jester. But here he is, along with some of the strangest people he's ever met. Chances of survival are slim, chances of pay slimmer. So perhaps it's to be expected that Trusty Lepp's companions are as odd as he is.But really, would it kill them to laugh at his jokes once in awhile?





	The Harbingers

The wheels of the carriage creaked and groaned as it made its way down the twisting, winding road. Lepp sat towards the middle of his seat, hands folded neatly over his lute, trying not to jostle the men on either side of him. He got the nagging feeling this carriage wasn’t meant to sit three people- normally he wouldn’t mind, but his company was… less than stellar.

The man on his right was wearing a helmet and cloth that obscured his face completely, paired with an odd combination of leather and scale armor. He was even armed with all sorts of interesting hooks and bombs and who knows what else! Of course, the broad, interesting fellow was completely unresponsive to any attempted conversation on the Jester’s part. Lepp couldn’t even get so much as a grunt out of him! It was beyond frustrating!

The man on his left wasn’t much better in terms of conversation, although Lepp doubted he _wanted_ to know any sorts of _interesting details_ from this one. The poor man was shaking like a leaf, his thin legs pulled up to his equally gaunt chest, wrapped in a ragged cloak and chains - chains! Like some sort of criminal! Lepp doubted the shaky man- he had managed to get a name out of this one, _Azazel_ he called himself - was at all capable in a fight; let alone the apparently dangerous jobs the heir had waiting for them. But that decision didn’t belong to Lepp, so quiet he stayed, staring past Azazel out the window.

Soon enough the Hamlet came into view. It had no name, as far as Lepp knew, but he thought inwardly to himself that it didn’t seem to warrant one. It was, to put it bluntly, a dump. Even from his seat, half the buildings looked abandoned, and there were few signs of life. Certainly not much could be found here aside from misery and despair. As he stepped down from the carriage, he could really only describe it as _grey._

Not like _miserable, dull, bleak,_ and _soul-draining_ were any less fitting, mind you.

 _“Well,”_ he said loudly, seeming to startle both of his traveling companions. “It certainly has a sort of … _rustic charm_ to it, does it not?” He got no response aside from a confused, frightened gaze from Azazel, but he simply chuckled and put his hands on his hips. “Where do we start? Come, I’m sure someone here can point us in the right direction!” And with that, he led his unwilling companions into the unnamed Hamlet for the first time.

* * *

 

As it turned out, they started with not a _where_ , but a _who_. The town’s resident doctor, a woman dressed in white with a beaked mask, overseeing reconstruction of the barracks and hospital. She was shorter than all three of them; but standing there, barking out orders in a heavy accent to the townsfolk, Lepp could believe she was the tallest person for miles.

“Alright! Break time, all of ya make yourselves scarce!” She clapped her hands sharply, and without even waiting to see if her orders were followed, turned to the newcomers. “So, you’re the sorry lot the Heir warned us about. I don’t see what the fuss ‘s all about.” Her voice was sly, but not unkind, and even behind her lenses Lepp could tell they were being scrutinized. A keen eye and a sharp tongue- Lepp adored her immediately. “Well, for what it’s worth, welcome to the Hamlet. I’m Faceby,” she offered a hand, “the only one with any sense ‘round these parts.”

Lepp bowed deeply, the bells adorning his outfit tinkling with the movement. “They call me Trusty Lepp, m’lady!” He giggled a bit, straightening himself again. “’Tis a pleasure!”

She snorted. “Hope the name ain’t ironic, lad. Wha’bout you two?” She waited for a few moments, then sighed. “Chatty bunch you’ve got here, Trusty Lepp.”

“ _Bentley,_ ” the massive man growled out before Lepp could respond. Nothing else, just more stern silence and arm crossing. _As sociable and charming as a wooden chair,_ Lepp thought, although he didn’t voice his opinions. He was _painfully dull_ , certainly, but likely big enough to break Lepp’s bones.

“Azazel here is still a little woozy from the carriage ride,” Lepp offered helpfully. The lad jumped at the mere mention of his name, but looked grateful enough not to speak. _Poor scrap_. Faceby seemed to look him over, then nodded sharply and turned on her heel, gesturing for them to come. The three scurried after her, the deceptively small woman outpacing them easily.

The tour of the Hamlet - what little was in any sort of functional state, that is - was mostly brief and entirely uneventful. _This will be the Sanitarium, this will be the Smith,_ so on and so forth. Lepp kept one ear on what their guide was saying, more out of respect for the woman than actually caring about the town layout, but he took the time to mull over things. Bentley and Azazel were still unknowns, but Lepp trusted fate, and fate dictated they arrive and experience the Hamlet together. That meant he’d have to get used to them. It shouldn’t be a problem for him, but he found others didn’t seem to enjoy his _presence_ as much as they did any _performances_. _Strange_.

Faceby was undoubtedly a veteran of sorts here, and he could tell by the way she walked and spoke she had more to offer than just a sharp tongue. It would be wise to get to know her, undoubtedly, and being her enemy was certainly a far worse idea. Plus, she was, so far, likely the only one with a sense of humor other than himself. He’d go mad if every conversation was like the one in the carriage- that is to say, nonexistent. “And this is where I leave you,” the Plague Doctor interrupted his thoughts. She was facing them once again, hands on her hips, in front of the entrance to the barracks. “Settle in. Mind your belongings. I’ll wake you up when we go to set out.”

“Set out?” Azazel asked, softly, as if he feared raising his voice would bring the town down around them.

Faceby laughed; sharply, without humor. Lepp cringed behind his mask at the harsh sound. “Get some rest,” was all she said, brushing past them without a glance back. “You’ll need it.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, like most things I do, this fic was written on impulse. I was showing my boyfriend the game and there she was. My brand new plague doctor. Faceby.  
> We fell in love with her name immediately and she became a quick favorite in-joke that turned into a character. And with both the shortage of Darkest Dungeon fics, and my desire to show my beautiful daughter to the world, I wrote up some hasty story plans and launched straight into writing. This is my first fic since my Warriors days, so it's not perfect, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!


End file.
